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SALT-WATER BALLADS 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO 
DALLAS • ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY -CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Lib* 

TORONTO 



SALT-WATER 
BALLADS 



BY 

JOHN MASEFIELD 



j£eto gorfc 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

1913 



Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1913 






Some of this book was written in my boyhood, 
all of it in my youth ; it is now re-issued, much 
as it was when first published nearly eleven 
years ago. J. M. 

gth June 1913 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A CONSECRATION 

Not of the princes and prelates with peri- 
wigged charioteers ..... I 

THE YARN OF THE 'LOCH ACHRAY' 

The 'Loch Achray' was a clipper tall . . 3 

SING A SONG O' SHIPWRECK 

He lolled on a bollard, a sun-burned son of 

the sea ....... 7 

BURIAL PARTY 

'He's deader 'n nails,' the fo'c's'le said, "n' 

gone to his long sleep' . . . . n 

BILL 

He lay dead on the cluttered deck and stared 

at the cold skies ..... 14 

FEVER SHIP 

There'll be no weepin' gells ashore when our 

ship sails ...... 15 

vii 



viii SALT-WATER BALLADS 

FEVER-CHILLS PAGE 

He tottered out of the alleyway with cheeks 

the colour of paste .... 17 

ONE OF THE BO'SUN'S YARNS 

Loafin' around in Sailor Town, a-bluin' o' my 
advance 19 

HELL'S PAVEMENT 

'When I'm discharged in Liverpool 'n' draws 

my bit o' pay' 25 

SEA-CHANGE 

'Goneys an' gullies an' all o' the birds o' the 
sea' ........ 27 

HARBOUR-BAR 

All in the feathered palm-tree tops the bright 

green parrots screech .... 29 

THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

An' Bill can have my sea-boots, Nigger Jim 

can have my knife . . . . . 31 

ONE OF WALLY'S YARNS 

The watch was up on the topsail-yard a-mak- 

ing fast the sail 33 



CONTENTS ix 

PAGE 

A VALEDICTION (LIVERPOOL DOCKS) 

Is there anything as I can do ashore for you 35 

A NIGHT AT DAGO TOM'S 

Oh yesterday, I t'ink it was, while cruisin' 

down the street 38 

TORT OF MANY SHIPS' 

'It's a sunny pleasant anchorage, is Kingdom 

Come' ....... 40 

CAPE HORN GOSPEL-I 

T was in a hooker once,' said Karlssen . 42 

CAPE HORN GOSPEL— II 

Jake was a dirty Dago lad, an' he gave the 

skipper chin 45 

MOTHER CAREY 

Mother Carey? She's the mother o' the 

witches ....... 48 

EVENING— REGATTA DAY 

Your nose is a red jelly, your mouth's a 

toothless wreck 50 



x SALT-WATER BALLADS 

PAGE 

A VALEDICTION 

We're bound for blue water where the great 

winds blow 52 

A PIER-HEAD CHORUS 

Oh, I'll be chewing salted horse and biting 

flinty bread 54 

THE GOLDEN CITY OF ST. MARY 

Out beyond the sunset, could I but find the 

way 56 

TRADE WINDS 

In the harbour, in the island, in the Spanish 

Seas 58 

^ SEA-FEVER 

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely 

sea and the sky ..... 59 

A WANDERER'S SONG 

A wind's in the heart o' me, a fire's in my 

heels 61 

CARDIGAN BAY 

Clean, green, windy billows notching out the 

sky 63 



CONTENTS xi 

PAGE 

CHRISTMAS EVE AT SEA 

A wind is rustling 'south and soft' . . 64 

A BALLAD OF CAPE ST. VINCENT 

Now, Bill, ain't it prime to be a-sailin' . 66 

THE TARRY BUCCANEER 

I'm going to be a pirate with a bright brass 

pivot-gun 68 

A BALLAD OF JOHN SILVER 

We were schooner-rigged and rakish, with a 

long and lissome hull .... 71 

LYRICS FROM THE BUCCANEER' 

I. — We are far from sight of the harbour 

lights ... ... 74 

II. — There's a sea-way somewhere where all 

day long 75 

III. — The toppling rollers at the harbour 

mouth ...... 76 

D'AVALOS' PRAYER 

When the last sea is sailed and the last shal- 
low charted ...... 77 

^THE WEST WIND 

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' 

cries ....... 79 

THE GALLEY-ROWERS 

Staggering over the running combers . . 82 



xii SALT-WATER BALLADS 

PAGE 

SORROW OF MYDATH 

Weary the cry of the wind is, weary the sea 84 

VAGABOND 

Dunno a heap about the what an' why . 85 

VISION 

I have drunken the red wine and flung the 

dice 86 

SPUNYARN 

Spunyarn, spunyarn, with one to turn the 



crank 



THE DEAD KNIGHT 

The cleanly rush of the mountain air . 89 

PERSONAL 

Tramping at night in the cold and wet, I 

passed the lighted inn .... 91 

ON MALVERN HILL 

A wind is brushing down the clover . . 92 

TEWKESBURY ROAD 

It is good to be out on the road, and going 

one knows not where .... 94 



CONTENTS xiii 

PAGE 

ON EASTNOR KNOLL 

Silent are the woods, and the dim green 

boughs are 96 

'REST HER SOUL, SHE'S DEAD!' 

She has done with the sea's sorrow and the 

world's way ..... 97 

'ALL YE THAT PASS BY' 

On the long dusty ribbon of the long city 

street 99 

IN MEMORY OF A. P. R. 

Once in the windy wintry weather . . 101 

TO-MORROW 

Oh yesterday the cutting edge drank 

thirstily and deep . . . .102 

CAVALIER 

All the merry kettle-drums are thudding 

into rhyme ...... 104 

A SONG AT PARTING 

The tick of the blood is settling slow, my 

heart .will soon be still . . . 106 

GLOSSARY 109 



'The mariners are a pleasant people, but little 
like those in the towns, and they can speak no 
other language than that used in ships.' 

The Licentiate Vidriera. 



A CONSECRATION 

NOT of the princes and prelates with periwigged 

charioteers 
Riding triumphantly laurelled to lap the fat of the 

years, — 
Rather the scorned — the rejected — the men hemmed 

in with the spears; 

The men of the tattered battalion which fights till 

it dies, 
Dazed with the dust of the battle, the din and the 

cries, 
The men with the broken heads and the blood run- 

ing into their eyes. 

Not the be-medalled Commander, beloved of the 

throne, 
Riding cock-horse to parade when the bugles are 

blown, 
But the lads zvho carried the koppie and cannot be 

known. 



•\LT-W 



2 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

Not the ruler for me, but the ranker, the tramp of 

the road , 
The slave with the sack on his shoulders pricked on 

with the goad, 
The man with too weighty a burden, too weary a 

load. 

The sailor, the stoker of steamers, the man with the 
clout, 

The chantyman bent at the halliards putting a tune 
to the shout, 

The drowsy man at the wheel and the tired look- 
out. 

Others may sing of the wine and the wealth and the 

mirth, 
The portly presence of potentates goodly in girth; — 
Mine be the dirt and the dross, the dust and scum of 

the earth! 

Theirs be the music, the colour, the glory, the gold; 
Mine be a handful of ashes, a mouthful of mould. 
Of the maimed, of the halt and the blind in the rain 
and the cold — 

Of these shall my songs be fashioned, my tales be 
told. Amen. 



THE YARN OF THE 'LOCH ACHRAY' 



THE YARN OF THE 'LOCH ACHRAY' 

The 'Loch Achray' was a clipper tall 

With seven-and-twenty hands in all. 

Twenty to hand and reef and haul, 

A skipper to sail and mates to bawl 

'Tally on to the tackle-fall, 

Heave now 'n' start her, heave 'n' pawl !' 
Hear the yarn of a sailor, 
An old yarn learned at sea. 

Her crew were shipped and they said 'Farewell, 
So-long, my Tottie, my lovely gell ; 
We sail to-day if we fetch to hell, 
It's time we tackled the wheel a spell.' 

Hear the yarn of a sailor, 

An old yarn learned at sea. 

The dockside loafers talked on the quay 
The day that she towed down to sea: 



4 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

'Lord, what a handsome ship she be! 
Cheer her, sonny boys, three times three!' 
And the dockside loafers gave her a shout 
As the red-funnelled tug-boat towed her out; 
They gave her a cheer as the custom is, 
And the crew yelled 'Take our loves to Liz — 
Three cheers, bullies, for old Pier Head 
'N' the bloody stay-at-homes!' they said. 
Hear the yarn of a sailor, 
An old yarn learned at sea. 



In the grey of the coming on of night 
She dropped the tug at the Tuskar Light, 
'N' the topsails went to the topmast head 
To a chorus that fairly awoke the dead. 
She trimmed her yards and slanted South 
With her royals set and a bone in her mouth. 
Hear the yarn of a sailor, 
An old yarn learned at sea. 



She crossed the Line and all went well, 
They ate, they slept, and they struck the bell 



THE YARN OF THE 'LOCH ACHRAY' 

And I give you a gospel truth when I state 
The crowd didn't find any fault with the Mate, 
But one night off the River Plate. 
Hear the yarn of a sailor, 
An old yarn learned at sea. 



It freshened up till it blew like thunder 
And burrowed her deep, lee-scuppers under. 
The old man said, 'I mean to hang on 
Till her canvas busts or her sticks are gone' — 
Which the blushing looney did, till at last 
Overboard went her mizzen-mast. 
Hear the yarn of a sailor, 
An old yarn learned at sea. 

Then a fierce squall struck the 'Loch Achray* 
And bowed her down to her water-way; 
Her main-shrouds gave and her forestay, 
And a green sea carried her wheel away; 
Ere the watch below had time to dress 
She was cluttered up in a blushing mess. 
Hear the yarn of a sailor, 
An old yarn learned at sea. 



6 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

She couldn't lay-to nor yet pay-off, 
And she got swept clean in the bloody trough ; 
Her masts were gone, and afore you know T ed 
She filled by the head and down she goed. 
Her crew made seven-and-twenty dishes 
For the big jack-sharks and the little fishes, 
And over their bones the water swishes. 
Hear the yarn of a sailor, 
An old yarn learned at sea. 

The wives and girls they watch in the rain 
For a ship as won't come home again. 
'I reckon it's them head-winds,' they say, 
'She'll be home to-morrow, if not to-day. 
I'll just nip home 'n' I'll air the sheets 
'N' buy the fixins 'n' cook the meats 
As my man likes 'n' as my man eats/ 

So home they goes by the windy streets, 
Thinking their men are homeward bound 
With anchors hungry for English ground, 
And the bloody fun of it is, they're drowned! 
Hear the yarn of a sailor, 
An old yarn learned at sea. 



SING A SONG O' SHIPWRECK 



SING A SONG O' SHIPWRECK 

He lolled on a bollard, a sun-burned son of the sea, 
With ear-rings of brass and a jumper of dungaree, 
1 'N' many a queer lash-up have I seen,' says he. 



'But the toughest hooray o' the racket,' he says, 'I'll 

be sworn, 
'N' the roughest traverse I worked since the day I 

was born, 
Was a packet o' Sailor's Delight as I scoffed in the 

seas o' the Horn. 



'All day long in the calm she had rolled to the 

swell, 
Rolling through fifty degrees till she clattered her 

bell; 
'N' then came snow, 'n' a squall, 'n' a wind was 

colder 'n hell. 



8 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

'It blew like the Bull of Barney, a beast of a 

breeze, 
'N' over the rail come the cold green lollopin' seas, 
'N' she went ashore at the dawn on the Ramirez. 

'She was settlin' down by the stern when I got to 

the deck, 
Her waist was a smother o' sea as was up to your 

neck, 
'N' her masts were gone, 'n' her rails, V she was 

a wreck. 

'We rigged up a tackle, a purchase, a sort of a shift, 
To hoist the boats off o' the deck-house and get 

them adrift, 
When her stern gives a sickenin' settle, her bows 

give a lift, 

1 'N' comes a crash of green water as sets me 

afloat 
With freezing fingers clutching the keel of a boat — 
The bottom-up whaler — 'n' that was the juice of a 

note. 



SING A SONG O' SHIPWRECK 9 

'Well, I clambers acrost o' the keel 'n' I gets me 

secured, 
When I sees a face in the white o' the smother to 

looard, 
So I gives 'im a 'and, 'n' be shot if it wasn't the 

stooard ! 



'So he climbs up forrard o' me, V "thanky," a' says, 
'N' we sits 'n' shivers 'n' freeze to the bone wi' the 

sprays, 
'N' / sings "Abel Brown," 'n' the stooard he prays. 

'Wi' never a dollop to sup nor a morsel to bite, 
The lips of us blue with the cold 'n' the heads of 

us light, 
Adrift in a Cape Horn sea for a day 'n' a night. 

' 'N' then the stooard goes dotty 'n' puts a tune to 

his lip, 
'N' moans about Love like a dern old hen wi' the 

pip— 
(I sets no store upon stooards — they ain't no use 
on a ship). 



io SALT-WATER BALLADS 

' 'N' "mother," the looney cackles, "come 'n' put 
Willy to bed!" 

So I says "Dry up, or I'll fetch you a crack o' the 
head"; 

"The kettle's a-bilin'," he answers, " n' I'll go but- 
ter the bread." 



1 'N' he falls to singin' some slush about clinkin' a 

can, 
'N' at last he dies, so he does, 'n' I tells you, Jan, 
I was glad when he did, for he weren't no fun for 

a man. 

'So he falls forrard, he does, 'n' he closes his eye, 
'N' quiet he lays 'n' quiet I leaves him lie, 
'N' I was alone with his corp, 'n' the cold green 
sea and the sky. 

' 'N' then I dithers, I guess, for the next as I knew 
Was the voice of a mate as was sayin' to one of the 

crew, 
"Easy, my son, wi' the brandy, be shot if he ain't 

comin'-to!" ' 



BURIAL PARTY n 



BURIAL PARTY 

'He's deader 'n nails,' the fo'c's'le said, ' 'n' gone 

to his long sleep'; 
' 'N' about his corp,' said Tom to Dan, 'd'ye think 

his corp'll keep 
Till the day's done, 'n' the work's through, 'n' the 

ebb's upon the neap?' 

'He's deader 'n nails,' said Dan to Tom, ' 'n' I 

wish his sperrit j'y; 
He spat straight 'n' he steered true, but listen to 

me, say I, 
Take 'n' cover 'n' bury him now, 'n' I'll take 'n' 

tell you why. 

'It's a rummy rig of a guffy's yarn, V the juice of 

a rummy note, 
But if you buries a corp at night, it takes 'n' keeps 

afloat, 



12 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

For its bloody soul's afraid o' the dark 'n' sticks 
within the throat. 



1 'N' all the night till the grey o' the dawn the dead 

'un has to swim 
With a blue 'n' beastly Will o' the Wisp a-burnin' 

over him, 
With a herring, maybe, a-scoffin' a toe or a shark 

a-chewin' a limb. 

' 'N' all the night the shiverin' corp it has to swim 

the sea, 
With its shudderin' soul inside the throat (where a 

soul's no right to be), 
Till the sky's grey 'n' the dawn's clear, 'n' then 

the sperrit's free. 

'Now Joe was a man was right as rain. I'm sort 

of sore for Joe, 
'N' if we bury him durin' the day, his soul can take 

'n* go; 
So we'll dump his corp when the bell strikes 'n' we 

can get below. 



BURIAL PARTY 13 

'I'd fairly hate for him to swim in a blue 'n' beastly 

light, 
With his shudderin' soul inside of him a-feelin' the 

fishes bite, 
So over he goes at noon, say I, 'n' he shall sleep 

to-night.' 



SALT-WATER BALLADS 



BILL 

He lay dead on the cluttered deck and stared at 

the cold skies, 
With never a friend to mourn for him nor a hand 

to close his eyes: 
'Bill, he's dead,' was all they said; 'he's dead, 'n' 

there he lies.' 

The mate came forrard at seven bells and spat across 

the rail: 
'Just lash him up wi' some holystone in a clout o' 

rotten sail, 
'N', rot ye, get a gait on ye, ye're slower'n a bloody 

snail!' 

When the rising moon was a copper disc and the 

sea was a strip of steel, 
We dumped him down to the swaying weeds ten 

fathom beneath the keel. 
'It's rough about Bill,' the fo'c's'le said, 'we'll have 

to stand his wheel.' 



FEVER SHIP 15 



FEVER SHIP 

There'll be no weepin' gells ashore when our ship 

sails, 
Nor no crews cheerin' us, standin' at the rails, 
'N' no Blue Peter a-foul the royal stay, 
For we've the Yellow Fever — Harry died to-day. — 
It's cruel when a fo'c's'le gets the fever! 



'N' Dick has got the fever-shakes, 'n' look what I 

was told 
( I went to get a sack for him to keep him from the 

cold) : 
'Sir, can I have a sack?' I says, 'for Dick 'e's fit to 

die.' 
'Oh, sack be shot!' the skipper says, 'jest let the 

rotter lie!' — 

It's cruel when a fo'c's'le gets the fever ! 



16 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

It's a cruel port is Santos, and a hungry land, 
With rows o' graves already dug in yonder strip of 

sand, 
'N' Dick is hollerin' up the hatch, 'e saj^s 'e's goin' 

blue, 
His pore teeth are chattering, V what's a man to 

do?— 

It's cruel when a fo'c's'le gets the fever! 



FEVER-CHILLS 17 



FEVER-CHILLS 

He tottered out of the alleyway with cheeks the 

colour of paste, 
And shivered a spell and mopped his brow with a 

clout of cotton waste : 
'I've a lick of fever-chills,' he said, ' 'n' my inside 

it's green, 
But I'd be as right as rain,' he said, 'if I had some 

quinine, — 
But there ain't no quinine for us poor sailor-men. 

'But them there passengers,' he said, 'if they gets 

fever-chills, 
There's brimmin' buckets o' quinine for them, *n' 

bulgin' crates o' pills, 
'N' a doctor with Latin 'n' drugs 'n' all — enough 

to sink a town, 
'N' they lies quiet in their blushin' bunks 'n' mops 

their gruel down, — 



18 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

But their ain't none o' them fine ways lor us poor 
sailor-men. 

'But the Chief comes forrard 'n' he says, says he, 

"I gives you a straight tip : 
Come none o' your Cape Horn fever lays aboard o' 

this yer ship. 
On wi' your rags o' duds, my son, 'n' aft, V down 

the hole: 
The best cure known for fever-chills is shovelling 

bloody coal." 
It's hard, my son, that's what it is, for us poor 

sailor-men.' 



ONE OF THE BO'SUN'S YARNS 19 



ONE OF THE BO'SUN'S YARNS 

Loafin' around in Sailor Town, a-bluin' o' my ad- 
vance, 

I met a derelict donkeyman who led me a merry 
dance, 

Till he landed me 'n' bleached me fair in the bar 
of a rum-saloon, 

'N' there he spun me a juice of a yarn to this-yer 
brand of tune. 



'It's a solemn gospel, mate,' he says, 'but a man as 

ships aboard 
A steamer-tramp, he gets his whack of the wonders 

of the Lord — 
Such as roaches crawlin' over his bunk, 'n' snakes 

inside his bread, 
And work by night and work by day enough to 

strike him dead. 



20 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

'But that there's by the way,' says he; 'the yarn 

I'm goin' to spin 
Is about myself 'n' the life I led in the last ship I 

was in, 
The "Esmeralda," casual tramp, from Hull towards 

the Hook, 
Wi' one o' the brand o' Cain for mate 'n' a human 

mistake for cook. 



'We'd a week or so of dippin' around in a wind 

from outer hell, 
With a fathom or more of broken sea at large in the 

forrard well, 
Till our boats were bashed and bust and broke and 

gone to Davy Jones, 
'N' then come white Atlantic fog as chilled us to 

the bones. 



'We slowed her down and started the horn and 

watch and watch about, 
We froze the marrow in all our bones a-keepin' a 

good look-out, 



ONE OF THE BO'SUN'S YARNS 21 

'N' the ninth night out, in the middle watch, I 

woke from a pleasant dream, 
With the smash of a steamer ramming our plates 

a point abaft the beam. 



1 'Twas cold and dark when I fetched the deck, 

dirty 'n' cold V thick, 
'N' there was a feel in the way she rode as fairly 

turned me sick; — 
She was settlin', listin' quickly down, 'n' I heard 

the mates a-cursin', 
'N' I heard the wash 'n' the grumble-grunt of a 

steamer's screws reversin'. 



'She was leavin' us, mate, to sink or swim, 'n' the 

words we took 'n' said 
They turned the port-light grassy-green V the 

starboard rosy-red. 
We give her a hot perpetual taste of the singeing 

curse of Cain, 
As we heard her back 'n' clear the wreck 'n' off to 

her course again. 



22 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

'Then the mate came dancin' on to the scene, 'n' he 
says, "Now quit yer chin, 

Or I'll smash yer skulls, so help me James, 'n' let 
some wisdom in. 

Ye dodderin' scum o' the slums," he says, "are ye 
drunk or blazin' daft? 

If ye wish to save yer sickly hides, ye'd best con- 
trive a raft." 



'So he spoke us fair and turned us to, 'n' we 
wrought wi' tooth and nail 

Wi' scantling, casks, V coops 'n' ropes, 'n' boiler- 
plates 'n' sail, 

'N' all the while it were dark 'n' cold 'n' dirty as it 
could be, 

'N' she was soggy 'n' settlin' down to a berth be- 
neath the sea. 



'Soggy she grew, 'n' she didn't lift, 'n' she listed 

more 'n' more, 
Till her bell struck 'n' her boiler-pipes began to 

wheeze 'n' snore; 



ONE OF THE BO'SUN'S YARNS 23 

She settled, settled, listed, heeled, 'n' then may I be 

cust, 
If her sneezin', wheezin' boiler-pipes did not begin 

to bust ! 



1 'N' then the stars began to shine, 'n' the birds be- 
gan to sing, 

'N' the next I knowed I was bandaged up 'n' my 
arm were in a sling, 

'N' a swab in uniform were there, V "Well," says 
he, " V how 

Are yer arms, V legs, V liver, V lungs, 'n' bones 
a-feelin' now?" 



11 'Where am I ?" says I, 'n' he says, says he, a-cant- 

in' to the roll, 
"You're aboard the R.M.S. 'Marie' in the after 

Glory-Hole, 
'N' you've had a shave, if you wish to know, from 

the port o' Kingdom Come. 
Drink this," he says, 'n' I takes 'n' drinks, 'n' s'elp 

me, it was rum ! 



24 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

'Seven survivors seen 'n' saved of the "Esmeralda's" 
crowd, 

Taken aboard the sweet "Marie" 'n' bunked y ri 
treated proud, 

'N' D.B.S.'d to Mersey Docks ('n' a joyful trip we 
made), 

'N' there the skipper were given a purse by a grate- 
ful Board of Trade. 



'That's the end o' the yarn,' he says, 'n' he takes 

'n' wipes his lips, 
'Them's the works o' the Lord you sees in steam 'n' 

sailin' ships, — 
Rocks 'n' fogs 'n' shatterin' seas 'n' breakers right 

ahead, 
'N' work o' nights 'n' work o' days enough to strike 

you dead.' 



HELL'S PAVEMENT 25 



HELL'S PAVEMENT 

'When I'm discharged in Liverpool 'n' draws my bit 
o' pay, 
I won't come to sea no more. 
I'll court a pretty little lass 'n' have a weddin' day, 

'N' settle somewhere down ashore. 
I'll never fare to sea again a-temptin' Davy Jones, 
A-hearkening to the cruel sharks a-hungerin' for 

my bones; 
I'll run a blushin' dairy-farm or go a-crackin' stones, 
Or buy 'n' keep a little liquor-store,' — 

So he said. 

They towed her in to Liverpool, we made the 
hooker fast, 
And the copper-bound officials paid the crew, 
And Billy drew his money, but the money didn't 
last, 
For he painted the alongshore blue, — 



26 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

It was rum for Poll, and rum for Nan, and gin for 

Jolly Jack. 
He shipped a week later in the clothes upon his 

back, 
He had to pinch a little straw, he had to beg a 
sack 
To sleep on, when his watch was through, — 

So he did. 



\ 



SEA-CHANGE 27 



SEA-CHANGE 

'Goneys an' gullies an' all o' the birds o' the sea, 
They ain't no birds, not really,' said Billy the 
Dane. 
'Not mollies, nor gullies, nor goneys at all,' said 
he, 
'But simply the sperrits of mariners livin' 
again. 



'Them birds goin' fishin' is nothin' but souls o' the 
drowned, 
1 Souls o' the drowned an' the kicked as are never 
no more; 
An' that there haughty old albatross cruisin' around, 
Belike he's Admiral Nelson or Admiral Noah. 



'An' merry's the life they are living. They settle 
and dip, 



28 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

They fishes, they never stands watches, they 

waggle their wings; 
When a ship comes by, they fly to look at the ship 
To see how the nowaday mariners manages 

things. 



'When freezing aloft in a snorter, I tell you I wish — 
(Though maybe it ain't like a Christian) — I wish 
I could be 
A haughty old copper-bound albatross dipping for 
fish 
And coming the proud over all o' the birds o' the 
sea/ 



HARBOUR-BAR 29 



HARBOUR-BAR 

All in the feathered palm-tree tops the bright 

green parrots screech, 
The white line of the running surf goes booming 

down the beach, 
But I shall never see them, though the land lies 

close aboard, 
I've shaped the last long silent tack as takes one 

to the Lord. 



Give me the Scripters, Jakey, 'n' my pipe atween 

my lips, 
I'm bound for somewhere south and far beyond the 

track of ships; 
I've run my rags of colours up and clinched them 

to the stay, 
And God the pilot's come aboard to bring me up 

the bay. 



30 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

You'll mainsail-haul my bits o' things when Christ 

has took my soul, 
'N' you'll lay me quiet somewhere at the landward 

end the Mole, 
Where I shall hear the steamers' sterns a-squatter- 

ing from the heave, 
And the topsail blocks a-piping when a rope-yarn 

fouls the sheave. 

Give me a sup of lime-juice; Lord, I'm drifting in 

to port, 
The landfall lies to windward and the wind comes 

light and short, 
And I'm for signing off and out to take my watch 

below, 
And — prop a fellow, Jakey — Lord, it's time for me 

to go! 



THE TURN OF THE TIDE 31 



THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

An' Bill can have my sea-boots, Nigger Jim can 
have my knife, 
You can divvy up the dungarees an' bed, 
An' the ship can have my blessing, an' the Lord can 
have my life, 
An' sails an' fish my body when I'm dead. 

An' dreaming down below there in the tangled 
greens an' blues, 
Where the sunlight shudders golden round about, 
I shall hear the ships complainin' an' the cursin' of 
the crews, 
An' be sorry when the watch is tumbled out. 

I shall hear them hilly-hollying the weather crojick 
brace, 
And the sucking of the wash about the hull; 



32 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

When they chanty up the topsail I'll be hauling in 
my place, 
For my soul will follow seawards like a gull. 

I shall hear the blocks a-grunting in the bumpkins 
over-side, 
An' the slatting of the storm-sails on the stay, 
An' the rippling of the catspaw^ at the making of 
the tide, 
An' the swirl and splash of porpoises at play. 

An' Bill can have my sea-boots, Nigger Jim can 
have my knife, 
You can divvy up the whack I haven't scofft, 
An' the ship can have my blessing and the Lord 
can have my life, 
For it's time I quit the deck and went aloft. 



ONE OF WALLY'S YARNS 33 



ONE OF WALLY'S YARNS 

The watch was up on the topsail-yard a-making 

fast the sail, 
'N' Joe was swiggin' his gasket taut, 'n' I felt the 

stirrup give, 
'N' he dropped sheer from the tops'1-yard 'n' barely 

cleared the rail, 
'N' o' course, we bein' aloft, we couldn't do nothin' — 
We couldn't lower a boat and go a-lookin' for him, 
For it blew hard 'n' there was sech a sea runnin' 
That no boat wouldn't live. 



I seed him rise in the white o' the wake, I seed 

him lift a hand 
('N' him in his oilskin suit 'n' all), I heard him lift 

a cry; 
'N' there was his place on the yard 'n' all, 'n' the 

stirrup's busted strand. 



34 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

'N' the old man said there's a cruel old sea runnin', 
A cold green Barney's Bull of a sea runnin' ; 
It's hard, but I ain't agoin' to let a boat be lowered : 
So we left him there to die. 

He couldn't have kept afloat for long an' him lashed 

up 'n' all, 
'N' we couldn't see him for long, for the sea was 

blurred with the sleet 'n' snow, 
'N' we couldn't think of him much because o' the 

snortin', screamin' squall. 
There was a hand less at the halliards 'n' the braces, 
'N' a name less when the watch spoke to the 

muster-roll, 
'N' a empty bunk 'n' a pannikin as wasn't wanted 
When the watch went below. 



A VALEDICTION 35 



A VALEDICTION (LIVERPOOL DOCKS) 

A CRIMP. A DRUNKEN SAILOR. 

Is there anything as I can do ashore for you 
When you've dropped down the tide? — 

You can take 'n' tell Nan I'm goin' about the 
world agen, 

'N' that the world's wide. 
'N' tell her that there ain't no postal service 

Not down on the blue sea. 
'N' tell her that she'd best not keep her fires 
alight 

Nor set up late for me. 
'N' tell her I'll have forgotten all about her 

Afore we cross the Line. 
'N' tell her that the dollars of any other sailor- 
man 

Is as good red gold as mine. 



36 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

Is there anything as I can do aboard for you 
Afore the tow-rope's taut? 

I'm new to this packet and all the ways of her, 

'N' I don't know of aught; 
But I knows as I'm goin' down to the seas agen 

'N' the seas are salt 'n' drear; 
But I knows as all the doin' as you're man enough 
for 

Won't make them lager-beer. 

'N' ain't there nothin' as I can do ashore for you 
When you've got fair afloat? — 

You can buy a farm with the dollars as you've done 

me of 
'N' cash my advance-note. 

Is there anythin you'd fancy for your breakfastin 
When you're home across Mersey Bar? — 

I wants a red herrin' 'n' a prairie oyster 
'N' a bucket of Three Star, 



A VALEDICTION 37 

'N' a gell with redder lips than Polly has got, 
'N' prettier ways than Nan 

Well, so-long, Billy, *ri a spankin heavy pay-day to 
you! 

So-long, my fancy man ! 



38 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



A NIGHT AT DAGO TOM'S 

Oh yesterday, I t'fnk it was, while cruisin' down the 

street, 
I met with Bill. — 'Hullo,' he says, 'let's give the 

girls a treat.' 
We'd red bandanas round our necks 'n' our shrouds 

new rattled down, 
So we filled a couple of Santy Cruz and cleared for 

Sailor Town. 



We scooted south with a press of sail till we fetched 
to a caboose, 

The 'Sailor's Rest,' by Dago Tom, alongside 
'Paddy's Goose.' 

Red curtains to the windies, ay, 'n' white sand to 
the floor, 

And an old blind fiddler liltin' the tune of 'Low- 
lands no more.' 



A NIGHT AT DAGO TOM'S 39 

He played the 'Shaking of the Sheets' 'n' the 
couples did advance, 

Bowing, stamping, curtsying, in the shuffling of 
the dance; 

The old floor rocked and quivered, so it struck be- 
holders dumb, 

'N' arterwards there was sweet songs V good 
Jamaikey rum. 

'N' there was many a merry yarn of many a merry 

spree 
Aboard the ships with royals set a-sailing on the sea, 
Yarns of the hooker 'Spindrift,' her as had the 

clipper-bow, — 
'There ain't no ships,' says Bill to me, 'like that 

there hooker now.' 

When the old blind fiddler played the tune of 

'Pipe the Watch Below,' 
The skew-eyed landlord dowsed the glim and bade 

us 'stamp 'n' go,' 
'N' we linked it home, did Bill V I, adown the 

scattered streets, 
Until we fetched to Land o' Nod atween the linen 

sheets. 



.40 SALT-WATER BALLAD 



TORT OF MANY SHIPS 

'It's a sunny pleasant anchorage, is Kingdom Come, 
Where crews is always layin' aft for double-tots o' 

rum, 
'N' there's dancin' 'n' fiddlin' of ev'ry kind o' sort, 
It's a fine place for sailor-men is that there port. 

'N' I wish— 

I wish as I was there. 



'The winds is never nothin' more than jest light 

airs, 
'N' no-one gets belayin'-pinned, 'n' no-one never 

swears, 
Yer free to loaf an' laze around, yer pipe atween 

yer lips, 
Lollin' on the fo'c's'le, sonny, lookin' at the ships. 
'N' I wish— 

I wish as I was there. 



'PORT OF MANY SHIPS' 41 

Tor ridin' in the anchorage the ships of all the 

world 
Have got one anchor down 'n' all sails furled. 
All the sunken hookers 'n* the crews as took 'n' 

died 
They lays there merry, sonny, swingin' to the 
tide. 

'N' I wish— 

I wish as I was there. 



'Drowned old wooden hookers green wi' drippin' 

wrack, 
Ships as never fetched to port, as never came back, 
Swingin' to the blushin' tide, dippin' to the swell, 
'N' the crews all singin', sonny, beatin' on the bell. 

'N' I wish— 

I wish as I was there. 



42 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



CAPE HORN GOSPEL— I 

'I was in a hooker once,' said Karlssen, 

'And Bill, as was a seaman, died, 

So we lashed him in an old tarpaulin 

And tumbled him across the side; 

And the fun of it was that all his gear was 

Divided up among the crew 

Before that blushing human error, 

Our crawling little captain, knew. 



'On the passage home one morning 
(As certain as I prays for grace) 
There was old Bill's shadder a-hauling 
At the weather mizzen-topsail brace. 
He was all grown green with sea-weed, 
He was all lashed up and shored; 
So I says to him, I says, "Why, Billy! 
What's a-bringin' of you back aboard?" 



CAPE HORN GOSPEL 43 

* "I'm a-weary of them there mermaids," 

Says old Bill's ghost to me; 

"It ain't no place for a Christian 

Below there — under sea. 

For it's all blown sand and shipwrecks, 

And old bones eaten bare, 

And them cold fishy females 

With long green weeds for hair. 



1 "And there ain't no dances shuffled, 

And no old yarns is spun, 

And there ain't no stars but starfish, 

And never any moon or sun. 

I heard your keel a-passing 

And the running rattle of the brace," 

And he says, "Stand by," says William, 

"For a shift towards a better place." 



'Well, he sogered about decks till sunrise, 
When a rooster in the hen-coop crowed, 
And as so much smoke he faded 
And as so much smoke he goed ; 



44 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

And I've often wondered since, Jan, 
How his old ghost stands to fare 
Long o' them cold fishy females 
With long green weeds for hair.' 



CAPE HORN GOSPEL 45 



CAPE HORN GOSPEL— II 

Jake was a dirty Dago lad, an' he gave the skipper 

chin, 
An' the skipper up an' took him a crack with an 

iron belaying-pin 
Which stiffened him out a rusty corp, as pretty as 

you could wish, 
An' then we shovelled him up in a sack an' 

dumped him to the fish. 

That was jest arter we'd got sail on her. 

Josey slipped from the tops'1-yard an' bust his 

bloody back 
(Which corned from playing the giddy goat an' 

leavin' go the jack) ; 
We lashed his chips in clouts of sail an' ballasted 

him with stones, 
'The Lord hath taken away,' we says, an' we give 

him to Davy Jones. 

An' that was afore we were up with the Line. 



46 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

Joe were chippin' a rusty plate a-squattin' upon 

the deck, 
An' all the watch he had the sun a-singein' him on 

the neck, 
An' forrard he falls at last, he does, an' he lets his 

mallet go, 
Dead as a nail with a calenture, an' that was the 

end of Joe. 

An' that was just afore we made the Plate. 

All o' the rest were sailor-men, an' it come to rain 

an' squall, 
An' then it was halliards, sheets, an 'tacks 'clue 

up, an' let go all.' 
We snugged her down an' hove her to, an' the old 

contrairy cuss 
Started a plate, an' settled an' sank, an' that was 

the end of us. 



We slopped around on coops an' planks in the cold 

an' in the dark, 
An' Bill were drowned, an' Tom were ate by a 

swine of a cruel shark, 



CAPE HORN GOSPEL 47 

An' a mail-boat reskied Harry an' I (which corned 

of pious prayers), 
Which brings me here a-kickin' my heels in the 

port of Buenos Ayres. 

I'm bound for home in the 'Oronook,' in a suit of 

looted duds, 
A D.B.S. a-earnin' a stake by helpin' peelin' spuds, 
An' if ever I fetch to Prince's Stage an' sets my 

feet ashore, 
You bet your hide that there I stay, an' follers the 

sea no more. 



48 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



MOTHER CAREY 
(as told me by the bo'sun) 

Mother Carey? She's the mother o' the witches 

'N' all them sort o' rips; 
She's a fine gell to look at, but the hitch is, 

She's a sight too fond of ships. 
She lives upon a iceberg to the norred, 

'N' her man he's Davy Jones, 
'N' she combs the weeds upon her forred 

With pore drowned sailors' bones. 

She's the mother o' the wrecks, 'n' the mother 

Of all big winds as blows,; 
She's up to some deviltry or other 

When it storms, or sleets, or snows. 
The noise of the wind's her screaming 

'I'm arter a plump, young, fine, 
Brass-buttoned, beefy-ribbed young seam'n 

So as me 'n' my mate kin dine.' 



MOTHER CAREY 49 

She's a hungry old rip 'n' a cruel 

For sailor-men like we, 
She's give a many mariners the gruel 

'N' a long sleep under sea. 
She's the blood o* many a crew upon her 

'N' the bones of many a wreck, 
'N' she's barnacles a-growin' on her 

'N' shark's teeth round her neck. 

I ain't never had no schoolin' 

Nor read no books like you, 
But I knows 't ain't healthy to be foolin' 

With that there gristly two. 
You're young, you thinks, 'n' you're lairy, 

But if you're to make old bones, 
Steer clear, I says, o' Mother Carey, 

'N' that there Davy Jones. 



50 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



EVENING— REGATTA DAY 

Your nose is a red jelly, your mouth's a toothless 

wreck, 
And I'm atop of you, banging your head upon the 

dirty deck; 
And both your eyes are bunged and blind like 

those of a mewling pup, 
For you're the juggins who caught the crab and 

lost the ship the Cup. 

He caught a crab in the spurt home, this blushing 

cherub did, 
And the 'Craigie's' whaler slipped ahead like a 

cart-wheel on the skid, 
And beat us fair by a boat's nose though we 

sweated fit to start her, 
So we are playing at Nero now, and he's the 

Christian martyr. 



EVENING— REGATTA DAY 51 

And Stroke is lashing a bunch of keys to the 

buckle-end a belt, 
And we're going to lay you over a chest and baste 

you till you melt. 
The 'Craigie' boys are beating the bell and 

cheering down the tier, 
D'ye hear, you Port Mahone baboon, I ask you, do 

you hear? 



52 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



A VALEDICTION 

We're bound for blue water where the great winds 

blow, 
It's time to get the tacks aboard, time for us to 

go; 
The crowd's at the capstan and the tune's in the 

shout, 
'A long pull, a strong pull, and warp the hooker out! 

The bow-wash is eddying, spreading from the bows, 
Aloft and loose the topsails and some one give a 

rouse ; 
A salt Atlantic chanty shall be music to the dead, 
'A long pull, a strong pull, and the yard to the mast- 

head! 

Green and merry run the seas, the wind comes 

cold, 
Salt and strong and pleasant, and worth a mint of 

gold; 



A VALEDICTION 53 

And she's staggering, swooping, as she feels her 

feet, 
'A long pull, a strong pull, and aft the main-sheet/ 

Shrilly squeal the running sheaves, the weather- 
gear strains, 

Such a clatter of chain-sheets, the devil's in the 
chains ; 

Over us the bright stars, under us the drowned, 

'A long pull, a strong pull, and were outward 
bound.' 

Yonder, round and ruddy, is the mellow old moon, 
The red-funnelled tug has gone, and now, sonny, 

soon 
We'll be clear of the Channel, so watch how you 

steer, 
'Ease her when she pitches, and so-long, my dear.' 



54 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



A PIER-HEAD CHORUS 

Oh I'll be chewing salted horse and biting flinty 

bread, 
And dancing with the stars to watch, upon the 

fo'c's'le head, 
Hearkening to the bow-wash and the welter of the 

tread 
Of a thousand tons of clipper running free. 

For the tug has got the tow-rope and will take us 

to the Downs, 
Her paddles churn the river-wrack to muddy greens 

and trowns, 
And I have given river-wrack and all the filth of 

towns 
For the rolling, combing cresters of the sea. 

We'll sheet the mizzen-royals home and shimmer 
down the Bay, 



A PIER-HEAD CHORUS 55 

The sea-line blue with billows, the land-line blurred 

and grey ; 
The bow-wash will be piling high and thrashing 

into spray, 
As the hooker's fore-foot tramples down the 

swell. 

She'll log a giddy seventeen and rattle out the 

reel, 
The weight of all the run-out line will be a thing 

to feel, 
As the bacca-quidding shell-back shambles aft to 

take the wheel, 
And the sea-sick little middy strikes the bell. 



56 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



THE GOLDEN CITY OF ST. MARY 

Out beyond the sunset, could I but find the way, 
Is a sleepy blue laguna which widens to a bay, 
And there's the Blessed City — so the sailors say — 
The Golden City of St. Mary. 

It's built of fair marble — white — without a stain, 
And in the cool twilight when the sea-winds 

wane 
The bells chime faintly, like a soft, warm rain, 
In the Golden City of St. Mary. 

Among the green palm-trees where the fire-flies 

shine, 
Are the white tavern tables where the gallants 

dine, 
Singing slow Spanish songs like old mulled wine, 
In the Golden City of St. Mary. 



THE GOLDEN CITY OF ST. MARY 57 

Oh I'll be shipping sunset-wards and westward-ho 
Through the green toppling combers a-shattering 

into snow, 
Till I come to quiet moorings and a watch below, 
In the Golden City of St. Mary. 



58 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



TRADE WINDS 

In the harbour, in the island, in the Spanish Seas, 
Are the tiny white houses and the orange-trees, 
And day-long, night long, the cool and pleasant 
breeze 
Of the steady Trade Winds blowing. 

There is the red wine, the nutty Spanish ale, 
The shuffle of the dancers, the old salt's tale, 
The squeaking fiddle, and the soughing in the sail 
Of the steady Trade Winds blowing. 

And o' nights there's fire-flies and the yellow moon, 
And in the ghostly palm-trees the sleepy tune 
Of the quiet voice calling me, the long low croon . 
Of the steady Trade Winds blowing. 



SEA-FEVER 59 



SEA-FEVER 

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea 

and the sky, 
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her 

by, 

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the 

white sail's shaking, 
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn 

breaking. 



I must down to the seas again, for the call of the 

running tide 
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be 

denied ; 
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds 

flying, 
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the 

sea-gulls crying. 



60 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

I must down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy 

life, 
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the 

wind's like a whetted knife; 
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing 

fellow-rover, 
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long 

trick's over. 



A WANDERER'S SONG 61 



A WANDERER'S SONG 

A wind's in the heart of me, a fire's in my heels, 
I am tired of brick and stone and rumbling wagon- 
wheels ; 
I hunger for the sea's edge, the limits of the land, 
Where the wild old Atlantic is shouting on the 
sand. 

Oh I'll be going, leaving the noises of the street, 
To wtare a lifting foresail-foot is yanking at the 

sheet ; 
To a windy, tossing anchorage where yawls and 

ketches ride, 
Oh I'll be going, going, until I meet the tide. 

And first I'll hear the sea-wind, the mewing of the 

gulls, 
The clucking, sucking of the sea about the rusty 

hulls, 



62 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

The songs at the capstan in the hooker warping 

out, 
And then the heart of me'll know I'm there or 

thereabout. 

Oh I am tired of brick and stone, the heart of me 

is sick, 
For windy green, unquiet sea, the realm of Moby 

Dick; 
And I'll be going, going, from the roaring of the 

wheels, 
For a wind's in the heart of me, a fire's in my 

heels. 



CARDIGAN BAY 63 



CARDIGAN BAY 

Clean, green, windy billows notching out the sky, 
Grey clouds tattered into rags, sea-winds blowing 

high, 
And the ships under topsails, beating, thrashing by, 
And the mewing of the herring gulls. 

Dancing, flashing green seas shaking white locks, 
Boiling in blind eddies over hidden rocks, 
And the wind in the rigging, the creaking of the 
blocks, 
And the straining of the timber hulls. 

Delicate, cool sea-weeds, green and amber-brown, 
In beds where shaken sunlight slowly filters down 
On many a drowned seventy-four, many a sunken 
town, 
And the whitening of the dead men's skulls. 



64 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



CHRISTMAS EVE AT SEA 

A wind is rustling 'south and soft,' 

Cooing a quiet country tune, 
The calm sea sighs, and far aloft 

The sails are ghostly in the moon. 

Unquiet ripples lisp and purr, 

A block there pipes and chirps i' the sheave, 
The wheel-ropes jar, the reef -points stir 

Faintly — and it is Christmas Eve. 

The hushed sea seems to hold her breath, 
And o'er the giddy, swaying spars, 

Silent and excellent as Death, 

The dim blue skies are bright with stars. 

Dear God — they shone in Palestine 
Like this, and yon pale moon serene 

Looked down among the lowing kine 
On Mary and the Nazarene. 



CHRISTMAS EVE AT SEA 65 

The angels called from deep to deep, 
The burning heavens felt the thrill, 

Startling the flocks of silly sheep 
And lonely shepherds on the hill. 

To-night beneath the dripping bows 

Where flashing bubbles burst and throng, 

The bow-wash murmurs and sighs and soughs 
A message from the angels' song. 

The moon goes nodding down the west, 
The drowsy helmsman strikes the bell; 

Rex Judaorum natus est, 

I charge you, brothers, sing Nowell, 
Now ell, 

Rex Judaorum natus est. 



66 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



A BALLAD OF CAPE ST. VINCENT 

Now, Bill, ain't it prime to be a-sailin', 

Slippin' easy, splashin' up the sea, 
Dossin' snug aneath the weather-railin', 

Quiddin' bonded Jacky out a-lee ? 
English sea astern us and afore us, 

Reaching out three thousand miles ahead, 
God's own stars a-risin* solemn o'er us, 

And — yonder's Cape St. Vincent and the 
Dead. 

There they lie, Bill, man and mate together, 

Dreamin' out the dog-watch down below, 
Anchored in the Port of Pleasant Weather, 

Waiting for the Bo'sun's call to blow. 
Over them the tide goes lappin', swayin', 

Under them's the wide bay's muddy bed, 
And it's pleasant dreams — to them — to hear us 
sayin', 

Yonder's Cape St. Vincent and the Dead. 



A BALLAD OF CAPE ST. VINCENT 67 

Hear that P. and O. boat's engines dronin', 

Beating out of time and out of tune, 
Ripping past with every plate a-groanin', 

Spitting smoke and cinders at the moon ? 
Ports a-lit like little stars a-settin', 

See 'em glintin' yaller, green, and red, 
Loggin' twenty knots, Bill, — but forgettin', 

Yonder's Cape St. Vincent and the Dead. 

They're 'discharged' now, Billy, 'left the 
service,* 

Rough an' bitter was the watch they stood, 
Drake an' Blake, an' Collingwood an' Jervis, 

Nelson, Rodney, Hawke, an' Howe an' Hood. 
They'd a hard time, haulin' an' directing 

There's the flag they left us, Billy — tread 
Straight an' keep it flyin' — recollectin', 

Yonder's Cape St. Vincent and the Dead. 



68 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



THE TARRY BUCCANEER 

Fm going to be a pirate with a bright brass pivot- 
gun, 

And an island in the Spanish Main beyond the 
setting sun, 

And a silver flagon full of red wine to drink when 
work is done, 
Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry 
Buccaneer. 



With a sandy creek to careen in, and a pig-tailed 

Spanish mate, 
And under my main-hatches a sparkling merry 

freight 
Of doubloons and double moidores and pieces of 

eight, 
Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry 

Buccaneer. 



THE TARRY BUCCANEER 69 

With a taste for Spanish wine-shops and for spend- 
ing my doubloons, 

And a crew of swart mulattoes and black-eyed 
octoroons, 

And a thoughtful way with mutineers of making 
them maroons, 
Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry 
Buccaneer. 



With a sash of crimson velvet and a diamond-hilted 

sword, 
And a silver whistle about my neck secured to a 

golden cord, 
And a habit of taking captives and walking them 

along a board, 
Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry 

Buccaneer. 



With a spy-glass tucked beneath my arm and a 

cocked hat cocked askew, 
And a long low rakish schooner a-cutting of the 

waves in two. 



70 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

And a flag of skull and cross-bones the wickedest 
that ever flew, 
Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry 
Buccaneer. 



A BALLAD OF JOHN SILVER 71 



A BALLAD OF JOHN SILVER 

We were schooner-rigged and rakish, with a long 

and lissome hull, 
And we flew the pretty colours of the cross-bones 

and the skull; 
We'd a big black Jolly Roger flapping grimly at 

the fore, 
And we sailed the Spanish Water in the happy days 

of yore. 

We'd a long brass gun amidships, like a well- 
conducted ship, 

We had each a brace of pistols and a cutlass at the 
hip; 

It's a point which tells against us, and a fact to be 
deplored, 

But we chased the goodly merchant-men and laid 
their ships aboard. 



n SALT-WATER BALLADS 

Then the dead men fouled the scuppers and the 

wounded filled the chains, 
And the paint-work all was spatter-dashed with 

other people's brains, 
She was boarded, she was looted, she was scuttled 

till she sank, 
And the pale survivors left us by the medium of 

the plank. 



O! then it was (while standing by the taffrail on 

the poop) 
We could hear the drowning folk lament the absent 

chicken-coop ; 
Then, having washed the blood away, we'd little 

else to do 
Than to dance a quiet hornpipe as the old salts 

taught us to. 



O! the fiddle on the fo'c's'le, and the slapping 

naked soles, 
And the genial 'Down the middle, Jake, and 

curtsey when she rolls!' 



A BALLAD OF JOHN SILVER 73 

With the silver seas around us and the pale moon 

overhead, 
And the look-out not a-looking and his pipe-bowl 

glowing red. 

Ah! the pig-tailed, quidding pirates and the pretty 

pranks we played, 
All have since been put a stop-to by the naughty 

Board of Trade; 
The schooners and the merry crews are laid away 

to rest, 
A little south the sunset in the Islands of the 

Blest. 



74 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



LYRICS FROM 'THE BUCCANEER' 



We are far from sight of the harbour lights, 
Of the sea-ports whence we came, 

But the old sea calls and the cold wind bites, 
And our hearts are turned to flame. 



And merry and rich is the goodly gear 
We'll win upon the tossing sea, 

A silken gown for my dainty dear, 
And a gold doubloon for me. 



It's the old old road and the old old quest 
Of the cut-throat sons of Cain, 

South by west and a quarter west, 
And hey for the Spanish Main. 



LYRICS FROM 'THE BUCCANEER' 75 



II 

There's a sea-way somewhere where all day long 

Is the hushed susurrus of the sea, 
The mewing of the skuas, and the sailor's song, 

And the wind's cry calling me. 

There's a haven somewhere where the quiet of the 
bay 
Is troubled with the shifting tide, 
Where the gulls are flying, crying in the bright 
white spray, 
And the tan-sailed schooners ride. 



76 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



III 

The toppling rollers at the harbour mouth 

Are spattering the bows with foam, 
And the anchor's catted, and she's heading for the 
south 

With her topsails sheeted home. 

And a merry measure is the dance she'll tread 
(To the clanking of the staysail's hanks) 

When the guns are growling and the blood runs 
red, 
And the prisoners are walking of the planks. 



D'AVALOS' PRAYER 77 



D'AVALOS' PRAYER 

When the last sea is sailed and the last shallow 
charted, 
When the last field is reaped and the last harvest 
stored, 
When the last fire is out and the last guest departed, 
Grant the last prayer that I shall pray, Be good 
to me, O Lord ! 



And let me pass in a night at sea, a night of storm 
and thunder, 
In the loud crying of the wind through sail and 
rope and spar; 
Send me a ninth great peaceful wave to drown and 
roll me under 
To the cold tunny-fishes' home where the drowned 
galleons are. 



78 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

And in the dim green quiet place far out of sight 
and hearing, 
Grant I may hear at whiles the wash and thresh 
of the sea-foam 
About the fine keen bows of the stately clippers 
steering 
Towards the lone northern star and the fair ports 
of home. 



THE WEST WIND 79 



THE WEST WIND 

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' 

cries ; 
I never hear the west wind but tears are in my 

eyes. 
For it comes from the west lands, the old brown 

hills, 
And April's in the west wind, and daffodils. 



It's a fine land, the west land, for hearts as tired as 

mine, 
Apple orchards blossom there, and the air's like 

wine. 
There is cool green grass there, where men may lie 

at rest, 
And the thrushes are in song there, fluting from the 

nest. 



80 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

'Will ye not come home, brother? ye have been 

long away, 
It's April, and blossom time, and white is the may ; 
And bright is the sun, brother, and warm is the 

rain, — 
Will ye not come home, brother, home to us again ? 

'The young corn is green, brother, where the 

rabbits run, 
It's blue sky, and white clouds, and warm rain and 

sun. 
It's song to a man's soul, brother, fire to a man's 

brain, 
To hear the wild bees and see the merry spring 

again. 

'Larks are singing in the west, brother, above the 

green wheat, 
So will ye not come home, brother, and rest your 

tired feet? 
I've a balm for bruised hearts, brother, sleep for 

aching eyes,' 
Says the warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' 

cries. 



THE WEST WIND 81 

It's the white road westwards is the road I must 

tread 
To the green grass, the cool grass, and rest for 

heart and head, 
To the violets and the warm hearts and the thrushes' 

song, 
In the fine land, the west land, the land where I 

belong. 



82 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



THE GALLEY-ROWERS 

Staggering over the running combers 

The long-ship heaves her dripping flanks, 
Singing together, the sea-roamers 

Drive the oars grunting in the banks. 
A long pull, 
And a long long pull to Mydath. 



'Where are ye bound, ye swart sea-farers, 
Vexing the grey wind-angered brine, 

Bearers of home-spun cloth, and bearers 
Of goat-skins filled with country wine?' 



'We are bound sunset-wards, not knowing, 
Over the whale's way miles and miles, 

Going to Vine-Land, haply going 

To the Bright Beach of the Blessed Isles. 



THE GALLEY ROWERS 83 

'In the wind's teeth and the spray's stinging 

Westward and outward forth we go, 
Knowing not whither nor why, but s-inging 
An old old oar-song as we row. 
A long pull, 
And a long long pull to Mydath.' 



84 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



SORROW OF MYDATH 

Weary the cry of the wind is, weary the sea, 
Weary the heart and the mind and the body of me. 
Would I were out of it, done with it, would I 
could be 
A white gull crying along the desolate sands! 

Outcast, derelict soul in a body accurst, 

Standing drenched with the spindrift, standing 

athirst, 
For the cool green waves of death to arise and 

burst 
In a tide of quiet for me on the desolate sands. 

Would that the waves and the long white hair of the 

spray 
Would gather in splendid terror and blot me away 
To the sunless place of the wrecks where the waters 

sway 
Gently, dreamily, quietly over desolate sands! 



VAGABOND 85 



VAGABOND 

Dunno a heap about the what an' why, 

Can't say's I ever knowed. 
Heaven to me's a fair blue stretch of sky, 

Earth's jest a dusty road. 

Dunno the names o' things, nor what they are, 

Can't say's I ever will. 
Dunno about God — he's jest the noddin' star 

Atop the windy hill. 

Dunno about Life — it's jest a tramp alone 

From wakin'-time to doss. 
Dunno about Death — it's jest a quiet stone 

All over-grey wi' moss. 

An' why I live, an' why the old world spins, 

Are things I never knowed ; 
My mark's the gypsy fires, the lonely inns, 

An' jest the dusty road. 



86 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



VISION 

I have drunken the red wine and flung the dice; 
Yet once in the noisy ale-house I have seen and 
heard 
The dear pale lady with the mournful eyes, 

And a voice like that of a pure grey cooing 
bird. 



With delicate white hands — white hands that I 
have kist 
(Oh frail white hands!) — she soothed my aching 
eyes; 
And her hair fell about her in a dim clinging 
mist, 
Like smoke from a golden incense burned in 
Paradise. 



VISION 87 

With gentle loving words, like shredded balm and 
myrrh, 
She healed with sweet forgiveness my black 
bitter sins, 
Then passed into the night, and I go seeking her 
Down the dark, silent streets, past the warm, 
lighted inns. 



SALT-WATER BALLADS 



SPUNYARN 

Spunyarn, spunyarn, with one to turn the crank, 
And one to slather the spunyarn, and one to knot 

the hank; 
It's an easy job for a summer watch, and a pleasant 

job enough, 
To twist the tarry lengths of yarn to shapely sailor 

stuff. 

Life is nothing but spunyarn on a winch in need of 

oil, 
Little enough is twined and spun but fever-fret 

and moil. 
I have travelled on land and sea, and all that I 

have found 
Are these poor songs to brace the arms that help 

the winches round. 



THE DEAD KNIGHT 89 



THE DEAD KNIGHT 

The cleanly rush of the mountain air, 
And the mumbling, grumbling humble-bees, 
Are the only things that wander there, 
The pitiful bones are laid at ease, 
The grass has grown in his tangled hair, 
And a rambling bramble binds his knees. 



To shrieve his soul from the pangs of hell, 
The only requiem-bells that rang 
Were the hare-bell and the heather-bell. 
Hushed he is with the holy spell 
In the gentle hymn the wind sang, 
And he lies quiet, and sleeps well. 



He is bleached and blanched with the summer 

sun; 
The misty rain and the cold dew 



9o SALT-WATER BALLADS 

Have altered him from the kingly one 
(That his lady loved, and his men knew) 
And dwindled him to a skeleton. 

The vetches have twined about his bones, 

The straggling ivy twists and creeps 

In his eye-sockets ; the nettle keeps 

Vigil about him while he sleeps. 

Over his body the wind means 

With a dreary tune throughout the day, 

In a chorus wistful, eerie, thin 

As the gull's cry — as the cry in the bay, 

The mournful word the seas say 

When tides are wandering out or in. 



PERSONAL 91 



PERSONAL 

Tramping at night in the cold and wet, I passed 

the lighted inn, 
And an old tune, a sweet tune, was being played 

within. 
It was full of the laugh of the leaves and the song 

the wind sings; 
It brought the tears and the choked throat, and a 

catch to the heart-strings. 

And it brought a bitter thought of the days that 

now were dead to me, 
The merry days in the old home before I went to 

sea — 
Days that were dead to me indeed. I bowed my 

head to the rain, 
And I passed by the lighted inn to the lonely roads 

again. 



92 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



ON MALVERN HILL 

A wind is brushing down the clover, 
It sweeps the tossing branches bare, 

Blowing the poising kestrel over 

The crumbling ramparts of the Caer. 

It whirls the scattered leaves before us 
Along the dusty road to home, 

Once it awakened into chorus 

The heart-strings in the ranks of Rome. 

There by the gusty coppice border 
The shrilling trumpets broke the halt, 

The Roman line, the Roman order, 
Swayed forwards to the blind assault. 

Spearman and charioteer and bowman 
Charged and were scattered into spray, 

Savage and taciturn the Roman 

Hewed upwards in the Roman way. 



ON MALVERN HILL 93 

There — in the twilight — where the cattle 

Are lowing home across the fields, 
The beaten warriors left the battle 

Dead on the clansmen's wicker shields. 

The leaves whirl in the wind's riot 
Beneath the Beacon's jutting spur, 

Quiet are clan and chief, and quiet 
Centurion and signifer. 



94 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



TEWKESBURY ROAD 

It is good to be out on the road, and going one 
knows not where, 
Going through meadow and village, one know T s 
not whither nor why ; 
Through the grey light drift of the dust, in the 
keen cool rush of the air, 
Under the flying white clouds, and the broad 
blue lift of the sky; 

And to halt at the chattering brook, in the tall 
green fern at the brink 
Where the harebell grows, and^ the gorse, and 
the fox-gloves purple and white ; 
Where the shy-eyed delicate deer troop down to 
the pools to drink, 
When the stars are mellow and large at the 
coming on of the night. 



TEWKESBURY ROAD 95 

O! to feel the warmth of the rain, and the homely 
smell of the earth, 
Is a tune for the blood to jig to, a joy past 
power of words; 
And the blessed green comely meadows seem all 
a-ripple with mirth 
At the lilt of the shifting feet, and the dear 
wild cry of the birds. 



96 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



ON EASTNOR KNOLL 

Silent are the woods, and the dim green boughs are 
Hushed in the twilight: yonder, in the path through 
The apple orchard, is a tired plough-boy 
Calling the cows home. 

A bright white star blinks, the pale moon rounds, but 
Still the red, lurid wreckage of the sunset 
Smoulders in smoky fire, and burns on 
The misty hill-tops. 

Ghostly it grows, and darker, the burning 
Fades into smoke, and now the gusty oaks are 
A silent army of phantoms thronging 
A land of shadows. 



REST HER SOUL, SHE'S DEAD!' 97 



'REST HER SOUL, SHE'S DEAD' 

She has done with the sea's sorrow and the 
world's way 
And the wind's grief; 
Strew her with laurel, cover her with bay 

And ivy-leaf. 
Let the slow mournful music sound before her, 
Strew the white flowers about the bier, and 
o'er her 
The sleepy poppies red beyond belief. 



On the black velvet covering her eyes 
Let the dull earth be thrown ; 

Hers is the mightier silence of the skies, 
And long, quiet rest alone. 

Over the pure, dark, wistful eyes of her, 

O'er all the human, all that dies of her, 
Gently let flowers be strown. 



9 8 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

Lay her away in quiet old peaceful earth 

(This blossom of ours), 
She has done with the world's anger and' the 
world's mirth, 

Sunshine and rain-showers; 
And over the poor, sad, tired face of her, 
In the long grass above the place of her 
(The grass which hides the glory and the grace 
of her), 

May the Spring bring the flowers. 



'ALL YE THAT PASS BY' 99 



'ALL YE THAT PASS BY' 

On the long dusty ribbon of the long city street, 
The pageant of life is passing me on multitudinous 

feet, 
With a word here of the hills, and a song there of 

the sea, 
And — the great movement changes — the pageant 

passes me. 

Faces — passionate faces — of men I may not know, 
They haunt me, burn me to the heart, as I turn 

aside to go: 
The king's face and the cur's face, and the face of 

the stuffed swine, 
They are passing, they are passing, their eyes look 

into mine. 



ioo SALT-WATER BALLADS 

I never can tire of the music of the noise of many 

feet, 
The thrill of the blood pulsing, the tick of the 

heart's beat, 
Of the men many as sands, of the squadrons ranked 

and massed 
Who are passing, changing always, and never have 

changed or passed. 



IN MEMORY OF A. P. R. 101 



IN MEMORY OF A. P. R. 

Once in the windy wintry weather, 

The road dust blowing in our eye6, 
We starved or tramped or slept together 

Beneath the haystacks and the skies; 

Until the tiring tramp was over, 

And then the call for him was blown, 

He left his friend — his fellow-rover — 
To tramp the dusty roads alone. 

The winds wail and the woods are yellow, 

The hills are blotted in the rain, 
'And would he were with me,' sighs his fellow, 

'With me upon the roads again !' 



102 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



TO-MORROW 

Oh yesterday the cutting edge drank thirstily and 

deep, 
The upland outlaws ringed us in and herded us as 

sheep, 
They drove us from the stricken field and bayed us 
into keep; 

But to-morrow 
By the living God, we'll try the game again! 



Oh yesterday our little troop was ridden through 

and through, 
Our swaying, tattered pennons fled, a broken, beaten 

few, 
And all a summer afternoon they hunted us and 
slew ; 

But to-morrow, 
By the living God, we'll try the game again! 



TO-MORROW 103 

And here upon the turret-top the bale-fire glowers 

red, 
The wake-lights burn and drip about our hacked, 

disfigured dead, 
And many a broken heart is here and many a 
broken head ; 

But to-morrow, 
By the living God, we'll try the game again! 



104 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



CAVALIER 

All the merry kettle-drums are thudding into 
rhyme, 
Dust is swimming dizzily down the village street, 
The scabbards are clattering, the feathers nodding 
time, 
To a clink of many horses' shoes, a tramp of many 
feet. 

Seven score of Cavaliers fighting for the King, 
Trolling lusty stirrup-songs, clamouring for wine, 

Riding with a loose rein, marching with a swing, 
Beneath the blue bannerol of Rupert of the 
Rhine. 

Hey the merry company; — the loud fifes playing — 
Blue scarves and bright steel and blossom of the 
may, 



CAVALIER 105 

Roses in the feathered hats, the long plumes 
swaying, 
A king's son ahead of them showing them the 
way. 



io6 SALT-WATER BALLADS 



A SONG AT PARTING 

The tick of the blood is settling slow, my heart will 

soon be still, 
And ripe and read)' am I for rest in the grave atop 

the hill ; 
So gather me up and lay me down, for ready and 

ripe am I, 
For the weary vigil with sightless eyes that may 

not see the sky. 



I have lived my life: I have spilt the wine that 

God the Maker gave, 
So carry me up the lonely hill and lay me in the 

grave, 
And cover me in with cleanly mould and old and 

lichened stones, 
In a place where ever the cry of the wind shall 

thrill my sleepy bones. 



A SONG AT PARTING 107 

Gather me up and lay me down with an old song 

and a prayer, 
Cover me in with wholesome earth, and weep and 

leave me there ; 
And get you gone with a kindly thought and an 

old tune and a sigh, 
And leave me alone, asleep, at rest, for ready and 

ripe am I. 



GLOSSARY 

Abaft the beam— -That half of a ship included between 
her amidship section and the taffrail. (For 'taffrail,' 
see below.) 

Abel Brown. — An unquotable sea-song. 

Advance-note.— A note for one month's wages issued to 
sailors on their signing a ship's articles. 

Belaying-pins.— Bars of iron or hard wood to which 
running rigging may be secured or belayed. 

Belaying-pins, from their handiness and peculiar 
club-shape, are sometimes used as bludgeons. 

Bloody.— An intensive derived from the substantive 
'blood,' a name applied to the Bucks, Scowrers, and 
Mohocks of the seventeenth and eighteenth cen- 
turies. 

Blue Peter.— A blue and white flag hoisted at the fore- 
trucks of ships about to sail. 

Bollard.— From bol or bole, the round trunk of a tree. 
A phallic or 'sparklet'-shaped ornament of the dock- 
side, of assistance to mariners in warping into or 
out of dock. 

Bonded Jacky— Negro-head tobacco or sweet cake. 

Bull of Barney.— A beast mentioned in an unquotable 
sea-proverb. 

Bumpkin.— An iron bar (projecting out-board from the 
ship's side) to which the lower and topsail brace 
blocks are sometimes hooked. 
109 



no SALT-WATER BALLADS 

Cape Horn fever. — The illness proper to malingerers. 

Catted. — Said of an anchor when weighed and secured 
to the 'cat-head.' 

Chanty. — A song sung to lighten labour at the capstan 
sheets, and halliards. The soloist is known as the 
chanty-man, and is usually a person of some author- 
ity in the fo'c's'le. Many chanties are of great 
beauty and extreme antiquity. 

Clipper-bow. — A bow of delicate curves and lines. 

Clout. — A rag or cloth. Also a blow : — 1 fetched him a 
clout i' the lug.' 

Crimp. — A sort of scoundrelly land-shark preying upon 
sailors. 

D.B.S. — Distressed British Sailor. A term applied to 
those who are invalided home from foreign ports. 

Dungaree. — A cheap, rough thin cloth (generally blue 
or brown), woven, I am told, of coco-nut fibre. 

Forward or Forrard. — Towards the bows. 

Fo'c's'le {Forecastle). — The deck-house or living-room 
of the crew. The word is often used to indicate 
the crew, or those members of it described by pas- 
sengers as the 'common sailors.' 

Fore-stay. — A powerful wire rope supporting the fore- 
mast forward. 

Gaskets. — Ropes or plaited lines used to secure the sails 

in furling. 
Goneys. — Albatrosses. 
Gnffy. — A marine or jolly. 
Gullies. — Sea-gulls, Cape Horn pigeons, etc. 



GLOSSARY in 

Heave and pazvl.—A cry of encouragement at the cap- 
stan. 

Hooker.— A periphrasis for ship, I suppose from a 
ship's carrying hooks or anchors. 

Jack or Jackstay.—A slender iron rail running along 
the upper portions of the yards in some ships. 

Leeward.— Pronounced 'board.' That quarter to which 
the wind blows. 

Mainsail haul— An order in tacking ship bidding 
'swing the mainyards.' To loot, steal, or 'acquire.' 

Main-shrouds— Ropes, usually wire, supporting lateral 
strains upon the mainmast. 

Mollies.— Molly-hawks, or Fulmar petrels. Wide- 
winged dusky sea-fowls, common in high latitudes, 
oily to taste, gluttonous. Great fishers and gar- 
bage-eaters. 

Port Mahon Baboon, or Port Mahon Soger.— I have 
been unable to discover either the origin of these 
insulting epithets or the reasons for the peculiar 
bitterness with which they sting the marine re- 
cipient. They are older than Dana (circa 1840). 

An old merchant sailor, now dead, once told me 
that Port Mahon was that godless city from which 
the Ark set sail, in which case the name may have 
some traditional connection with that evil 'Mahoun' 
or 'Mahu,' prince of darkness, mentioned by 
Shakespeare and some of our older poets. 
The real Port Mahon, a fine harbour in Minorca, 



ii2 SALT-WATER BALLADS 

was taken by the French, from Admiral Byng, in 
the year 1756. 

I think that the phrases originated at the time of 
Byng's consequent trial and execution. 
Purchase. — See 'Tackle.' 

Quidding. — Tobacco-chewing. 

Sails. — The sail-maker. 

Santa Cruz. — A brand of rum. 

Scantling. — Planks. 

Soger. — A laggard, malingerer, or hang-back. To loaf 
or skulk or work Tom Cox's Traverse. 

S puny am. — A three-strand line spun out of old rope- 
yarns knotted together. Most sailing-ships carry a 
spunyarn winch, and the spinning of such yarn is a 
favourite occupation in fine weather. 

Stirrup. — A short rope supporting the foot-rope on 
which the sailors stand when aloft on the yards. 

Tack. — To stay or 'bout ship. A reach to windward. 

The weather lower corner of a course. 
Tackle. — Pronounced taykle. A combination of pulleys 

for obtaining of artificial power. 
Taffrail. — The rail or bulwark round the sternmost end 

of a ship's poop or after-deck. 
Trick. — The ordinary two-hour spell at the wheel or on 

the look-out. 

Windward or Weather. — That quarter from which the 
wind blows. 



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people has risen up among us.' The story of a soul is 
written as plainly in 'Daily Bread' as in 'The Divine 
Comedy' and in 'Paradise Lost.'" — The Outlook. 

FIRES $1.25 net 

"In 'Fires' as in 'Daily Bread,' the fundamental note is 
human sympathy with the whole of life. Impressive as 
these dramas are, it is in their cumulative effect that they 
are chiefly powerful." — Atlantic Monthly. 

WOMENKIND $1.25 net 

"Mr. Gibson is a genuine singer of his own day and turns 
into appealing harmony the world's harshly jarring notes 
of poverty and pain." — The Outlook. 



PUBLISHED BY 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

64-66 Fifth Avenue New York 



Three Important New Volumes 
of Poetry 

By JOHN HELSTON 

LONICERA AND OTHER POEMS Preparing 

This book introduces another poet of promise to the verse- 
lovers of this country. It is of interest to learn that Mr. 
Helston, who for several years was an operative mechanic 
in electrical works, has created a remarkable impression in 
England where much is expected of him. This volume, 
characterized by verse of rare beauty, presents his most 
representative work, ranging from the long descriptive title- 
poem to shorter lyrics. 

By HERMANN HAGEDORN 

POEMS AND BALLADS Preparing 

"His is perhaps the most confident of the prophecies of 
our new poets for he has seen most clearly the poetry in 
the new life. His song is full of the spirit of youth and hope. 
... It is the song that the new century needs. His verse 
is strong and flexible and has an ease, a naturalness, a rhythm 
that is rare in young poets. In many of his shorter lyrics 
he recalls Heine." — Boston Transcript. 

By FANNIE STEARNS DAVIS 

MYSELF AND I $1.00 net 

"For some years the poems of Miss Davis have attracted 
wide attention in the best periodicals. That note of wistful 
mysticism which shimmers in almost every line gives her 
art a distinction that is bound to make its appeal. In this 
first book — where every verse is significant — Miss Davis has 
achieved very beautiful and serious poetry." — Boston Tran- 
script. 

PUBLISHED BY 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

64-66 Fifth Avenue , New York 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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